


swordhearted.

by rockygetsrolling



Series: to hold the words in your scarred, battered palms. [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: But also heavy in general, Depictions/Description of Blood, Gen, Inspired by Fanart, Metaphor-Heavy, Poetry, References to Cancer, references to canonical deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 18:00:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20568536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockygetsrolling/pseuds/rockygetsrolling
Summary: (His heartAnd his soulAre not broken,Not yet.)Inspired bythis post.





	swordhearted.

**Author's Note:**

> stan androbeaurepaire (same user on tumblr & ao3) for inspiring me.  
TW: heavy references to blood, life-threatening injury, death, and cancer.

(His heart  
And his soul  
Are not broken,  
Not yet.  
But  
They became damaged  
That night  
When he watched metal fly  
And punch holes in human flesh.)

This shouldn’t hurt  
As much as it does.  
He’s felt  
So much   
Worse  
Than this.

When did the air  
Become  
So thin?

(His heart  
And his soul  
Are not broken,  
Not yet.  
But the cracks in them  
Grew wider   
When he watched  
His companion  
Lose their whole world  
Because of one  
Misplaced  
Wire.  
It was not an accident.)

The sky is gray.  
His cape is black.  
His skin is white.  
His hands are red.  
The wings of his companion   
Are red,  
Too,  
But not for the same reason.

His chest hurts.

Something inside him is broken.

(His heart   
And his soul  
Are not broken,  
Not yet.  
They will break  
On the same night,  
At the same time,  
When he carries his companian  
From a smoking mountain  
Of ashes and rubble and splintered hearts,  
Both wings broken,  
Fragile heart stilled.)

The sky is dripping.  
So is he.

It’s not raining.

He’s dripping  
Into the street.

He’s not melting,  
Is he?  
No, he can’t be.  
Humans don’t melt,  
But he knows that  
Humans   
Can shatter,  
Can crumple,  
Can snap.

(His heart  
And his soul  
Will break  
On the same evening,  
At the same time,  
When his companion is shot  
And attacked  
By a monster with a red smile  
And a riptide laugh.)

He winces,   
And he coughs hard.  
Lethal raindrops fly from his lips  
And spatter his gauntlets  
With fresh,  
Mortal  
Paint. 

There is a massive pillar  
Of sharpened,  
Serrated  
Iron   
Buried between his ribs.

It bursts through his back  
Like a mutated wing,  
Like a cancerous growth.

(Someday,  
He will learn how painful such a thing  
Can be,  
Especially when it is   
Embedded  
Beside where your thoughts  
Take shape.)

His companion  
Cocks their head.  
Their eyes  
Are dark with his own stare,  
Reflected like the stars  
On the cresting sea;  
Like a floodlight  
Splashed  
Across clouds made of human error  
And the sky’s unshed tears.

_You’re hurt?_

He shakes his head.

_No._

He takes their head between his palms—  
Palms that are   
Scarred  
Smashed,  
Bruised,  
Trying to save the world  
—And turns their head forward and up.

_Don’t look._

The response  
Is immediate  
And frightened.

_Why not?_

He swallows.  
He tastes the liquid metal that powers him  
Against the back of his mouth.

_Just don’t look._

Silence,  
Then agreement,   
A soft chirp  
That glows yellow   
Against the grimy,  
Gray,  
Dripping  
Sky.

_Okay._

(His heart  
And his soul  
Will break  
On the same night,  
At the same time,  
When he finds his companion  
Using weak wings  
To try,  
With futility,  
To save a father  
Almost unworthy of saving.)

He smiles weakly, now.  
Reassurance   
Is the most valuable tool  
That he owns.

_You can rest._

His companion  
Shakes their head.  
They do not look down  
Or behind.  
Good.

_Let me help._

He laughs softly,   
Almost affectionately.  
Naive,  
Perhaps,  
But good hearts and bright eyes  
Are hard to find   
In someone faced  
With so  
Much  
Agony.

(His heart  
And his soul  
Will break   
On the same morning,  
At the same time,  
When his companion lies  
Empty-eyed,  
Bloodied,   
Lifeless,  
With the bite mark of a sword  
In their stomach  
And tear tracks  
On their too-young cheeks.)

_How would you like to help?_

His companion  
Does not reply  
With a true answer.  
At first, they are quiet.  
Then,  
Softly,  
Like warm summer rainfall,  
They begin to sing.

The yellow glow  
Flickers brighter  
And chases the grimy sky  
And the shadows under his eyes  
Away.

He smiles—  
_god, it hurts_  
—And trudges on.  
He leaves rivulets of mortality behind him,  
Marked between  
The treads of his shoes   
And   
The wheeze of his breath.  
His teeth  
Taste foreign.

His companion’s song  
Wavers.

_Don’t look._

It’s a gentle reminder.

_I won’t._

(His heart  
And his soul  
Will be remedied,  
Just for a moment,  
When his companion   
Defies their past of violence  
And stretches their hands toward  
Words  
And   
Peace.)

(His heart  
And his soul  
Will be remedied,  
Just for a moment,  
When his companion  
Decides  
That perhaps this power of theirs  
Is not a curse  
But the ultimate gift.)

(His heart  
And his soul  
Will be remedied,  
Just for a moment,  
When his companion  
Rejects their vicious bloodline  
And dons a well-loved mantle,  
A purple heart  
Shimmering  
In their eyes.)

But for now  
He walks on  
Through the dirt-encrusted streets,  
Past sin-washed passerby,  
Toward home.

There is a massive pillar  
Of sharpened,  
Serrated  
Iron  
Burried between his ribs.

(His heart  
And his soul  
Are not broken,  
Not yet.)

_Don’t worry,  
Everything will be okay._

(Not yet.)


End file.
